


The Night Can Keep a Secret

by anodyneer



Category: White Collar
Genre: Bathrooms, First Time, M/M, Mild Kink, Voyeurism, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 09:08:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anodyneer/pseuds/anodyneer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal makes a startling discovery about himself, and as with almost everything else, it's only a matter of time before Peter figures it out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night Can Keep a Secret

**Author's Note:**

  * For [citrinesunset](https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrinesunset/gifts).



> Written for [citrinesunset](http://archiveofourown.org/users/citrinesunset/pseuds/citrinesunset) for [](http://fandom-stocking.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://fandom-stocking.dreamwidth.org/)**fandom_stocking**. This is a technically a watersports fic, but it simply involves someone getting aroused by the sight and sound of one other person pissing (and a consensual encounter that results from this fascination). There's no raunch, no humiliation, no one gets pissed on or wets themselves or drinks it or plays in it. Pretty tame as far as w/s goes, so if you're not sure, give it a chance.
> 
> Minor spoilers for 1.06 and 2.11; majority of the story is a tag of sorts for 2.11, "Forging Bonds."
> 
> Title from "In the Middle of the Night" by Pat Green.

Neal couldn’t recall exactly when he started feeling attracted to Peter Burke. Sometimes, he was sure it happened in an instant, maybe the day he saw the agent outside the First Unity Bank with one of Neal’s forged Atlantic bonds in his hands. Other times, he thought it may have been gradual, a product of the casual touches – a hand at the small of Neal’s back, or a squeeze of his shoulder, a brush of their knees as they sat in the back of the surveillance van together.

He did remember, though, the first time he noticed a somewhat embarrassing new development in this forbidden attraction. They were holed up in a hotel room, investigating Lao Shen, and Peter was about to head out the door with Neal and Cruz to interview employees at the Hostess Bar. Just before they’d left, Peter had excused himself to the room’s small bathroom. While Cruz went for her coat, Neal had leaned against the wall near the bathroom door, not knowing what such an innocent move would do to him.

A morning’s worth of stale coffee, combined with endless hours of monitoring – and from the looks of him, a short nap – had apparently left Peter in dire need of relief. Without fully realizing he was doing so, Neal listened to him urinating copiously and forcefully for what seemed like a full minute before he finally tapered off. It wasn’t until the flush of the toilet broke his concentration that Neal made a startling realization.

He was almost painfully aroused. And not by just anything. By the sound of Peter relieving himself.

When his handler emerged from the bathroom, none the wiser, Neal hadn’t been able to meet his eyes. He’d simply mumbled something about it being his turn and disappeared into the bathroom to adjust himself, trying to will the blush from his cheeks.

He’d heard of a fetish involving urination before, but it was something that had never been appealing to him. The idea of pissing on someone or being pissed on grossed him out as much as the thought of tasting it. Needless to say, he was certain those particular feelings would never change. This situation with Peter seemed to be completely different; he only wanted to listen, and maybe to watch as Peter let loose.

Neal had heard many people – men and women – urinating before, and it had never done a thing for him. Not even once. So he was at a complete loss for an explanation as to why listening to Peter using the hotel room toilet had turned him on the way it did.

Or why he replayed the scene in his mind when he was finally able to give his aching cock some relief later that evening.

In that moment, it hadn’t even mattered that Meilin had just been there and revealed that she knew who had Kate. All he’d been able to think about was getting off to something that seemed so elicit, so wrong. So _hot_.

It happened again, on more than a few occasions, but only ever with Peter. Since they worked so closely together, there were often times when they ended up in the restroom at the same time, after lunch or between this crime scene and that interview. As Neal started paying more attention, he noticed a few things about his handler and his habits. Perhaps most importantly, Peter had a remarkable bladder capacity. As far as Neal could tell, the man never got desperate, never cut it too close, yet always seemed full to the brim. 

It surprised Neal that for as much noise as Peter made simply existing – huffing and grunting and grumbling his way through any given day – he was unusually quiet at the urinal, with the exception of the surprisingly audible force of his stream. He’d occasionally let out a long breath, not even loud enough to be a sigh, but other than that, he was the picture of solitude. At times when he must have been particularly in need, he’d sometimes tilt his head back and close his eyes, lips slightly parted, one hand on his hip and the other on his dick. To Neal, the picture this painted was one of almost orgasmic relief, and it was heavenly to watch.

It started to become a game with Neal at times, getting to the restroom first in hopes of taking the last – or sometimes, only – available urinal so Peter was left with the stall. When this happened, the older man was equally unabashed in his release, his stream loud and forceful, the water churning and foaming around it. Neal had to try to time it so that he was as close to finished as possible before Peter started; his resulting erections came on with such alacrity that they choked him off mid-stream if he wasn’t careful.

For several months, this subtle dance continued. To keep Peter from catching on, Neal made sure that he wasn’t always in there at the same time, but still managed to work it out so that he was there when he thought Peter might be most in need of relief.

He tried not to sneak more than a glance when he could, but he occasionally got lost in the moment, and only luck kept Peter from noticing. Eventually, though, his luck ran out, and he got caught looking. He’d already finished and was drying his hands, while Peter was still going strong at the urinal on the end. Neal hadn’t even realized he was watching, the tip of his tongue running over his bottom lip, shoulders held low so his jacket wouldn’t ride up.

“What?” Peter said as he shook off, startling Neal out of his reverie and making him blush furiously. He was able to cover, but just barely, shaking his head and furrowing his brow.

“You’re a damn camel.” 

Peter raised his eyebrows as he zipped up and headed to the sink. “Jealous?”

“No.” Neal managed to school his expression, giving Peter a reproachful glare. “That can’t be healthy from a medical standpoint.”

“Ah, it’s fine.” He shrugged as he dried his hands, then ran the paper towel over the back of his neck. “Just the way I’ve always been. Comes in handy with a job like this.” He gave Neal a secretive grin and lowered his voice, despite the fact that they were alone. “And I don’t think I’ll be needing any of those pills they advertise during the sports shows for a _long_ time.” Without waiting for a reply, he clapped Neal on the shoulder, then headed out the door. Neal waited until his jaw was firmly re-hinged before following.

From then on, Neal was more careful to limit his indulgence to listening most of the time, only risking the occasional glance when he was sure that Peter wouldn’t catch him. He couldn’t help thinking, though, that Peter didn’t seem to mind the attention. He never came right out and said anything, but it was clear that he’d become more aware of Neal’s presence. 

Neal just figured that Peter considered it somewhat of a fraternity, locker room sort of thing. At least until the night Peter confronted him about Adler, plying him with hours of full immunity and something that vaguely resembled wine in a screw top bottle. By the time the sun started to rise, they’d been through a long and winding tale that ended with a fractal antenna, a mostly empty bottle of pseudo-wine, one remaining beer, and two exhausted – and not a little buzzed – men.

Neal had excused himself twice to offload the thoroughly processed wine and was surprised that Peter hadn’t yet done the same. He could tell by the way the older man was sitting, loose and restless, that he’d soon have to head in that direction.

“So…” Neal propped his elbows on the table and rubbed at his bleary eyes with the heels of his hands.

“I know, I’ve overstayed my welcome.” Peter pushed his chair back and stood, glancing out the windows at the balcony as he ran a hand over his stubble-covered chin. He stifled a yawn and nodded in the direction of the hallway that led to the bathroom. “May I?”

“Yeah, of course.” Neal waved absently at him, his brain taking several seconds to catch up. _Five beers plus several hours without a bathroom break equals…oh, fuck._ His mind started to race with thoughts of what he might be able to hear, and he was so wrapped up in them that it took a moment to notice that Peter was standing in the doorway, watching him closely with eyes that were somehow both weary and sharp at the same time.

“Well,” Peter said softly, the corners of his mouth curling up in a barely-there smirk. “Aren’t you going to come along?”

_What?_

Neal gaped at him, not sure whether he’d actually heard the words, or whether he was just _really_ drunk and _really_ tired and…the bottle wasn’t even empty. He’d functioned – even pulled successful jobs – with less sleep and more inebriation. So it couldn’t be –

“Neal.”

Neal struggled for a moment to meet Peter’s gaze, apprehensive about what he’d see there. When he finally did, though, he was surprised to see a calm openness. No ridicule, and definitely no coercion. Just a simple offer.

“Sun’s not quite up over the balcony yet,” Peter murmured, leaning against the doorjamb. “Full immunity.” He raised his eyebrows, then turned and walked back the hallway.

Neal stood and moved to follow before he completely realized it was happening. When he got to the doorway where Peter had just stood, the older man’s scent still lingering there, he paused to get his thoughts in order. He was buzzed, but not too drunk to make his own decisions – and Peter was taking an even bigger risk by inviting him than Neal was taking by accepting it.

This couldn’t be a trap. Neal swallowed hard and slipped out of his long-sleeved shirt, then walked back to the bathroom, one thumb hooked over his belt while his fingers stroked absently at the erection in his khakis.

The door was open, and Neal stopped in the doorway, still vaguely wondering if he was dreaming. Peter was standing in front of the toilet, pants undone, fingers twitching over the fly of his boxers, and looking like something right out of Neal’s fantasies.

The older man’s eyes moved over him, stopping at Neal’s own fingers, at the bulge in his pants.

“That’s what I thought,” Peter said in a tone that Neal didn’t expect, didn’t dare hope for. Not repulsed, not admonishing. Relieved. And not because he was finally about to empty his aching bladder. In that moment, through the fog of the cheap wine, Neal realized that Peter had been just as unsure about making the offer as he’d been about accepting it.

“Peter?”

“Come in. Close the door.”

Neal did as he was told, then just stood and stared, mostly aware that Peter was doing the same. It was Peter who finally broke the silence, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, equal parts desperation and nerves.

“Look, I can’t wait much longer, but I need to get something straight here. I haven’t…I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Neither have I,” Neal admitted, his cheeks red from more than the wine.

“I need to know you want this. You understand that you don’t _have_ to do this.”

“Peter, you’re not forcing me. I want this. Please.”

“And if you want me to piss on you or –”

“Oh, no. No.”

“ – piss myself, or anything other than watching and maybe – _maybe_ – helping, I’m out. That is _not_ up for negotiation. Are we clear?”

“Crystal. Same page, same book, same library.”

“Okay. Okay, good.” Peter ran a hand through his hair. “I guess it’s obvious that this part of it can’t go beyond these walls. I mean, what you do at work is…is fine, but we can’t…” He closed his eyes and groaned, squeezing himself through his boxers. Neal wasn’t used to seeing that kind of open desperation from the man, and he had to let him off the hook, had to find out where this would lead.

“Of course.” He glanced down at Peter’s hand, then back up, giving him a small smile that he hoped was reassuring. “Now stop rambling. Whatever else we need to say can wait.”

“Yeah.” Peter’s eyes slid away, and it was only then that Neal noticed the redness that had crept up the other man’s neck, all the way to his ears. “If you want to, you know,” he mumbled, nodding down at himself, “you should wait until I’m almost finished.”

Neal cut him off with a nod, knowing exactly what he was trying to say. If Neal touched him, Peter would get hard and wouldn’t be able to finish. Considering that Peter had precisely the same effect on him – even without the touching – Neal could sympathize.

With a shake of his head, Peter turned to the toilet and reached into his boxers. “What in the hell am I doing?” he muttered, more to himself than to Neal. “This is…we’re both _insane_.”

Neal opened his mouth, almost ready to tell him they didn’t have to do it, that they could wait or pretend this didn’t happen. But then Peter pulled out a cock that was already a little larger than usual, just starting to fill out, and the words got stuck in Neal’s throat right alongside his racing heart.

Peter almost glanced at Neal, seemed to think better of it, and focused on a spot on the wall instead. Even with Neal standing nearby, he was able to start pissing right away, his stream fanning out for a brief second before concentrating into the forceful flow that Neal found unbearably arousing.

As Peter’s piss gushed into the bowl, the water foaming up around it, Neal fumbled his pants open and pulled out his own cock, hard and throbbing, slick with precome. He stroked himself slowly, deliberately, not wanting this to end before he was ready. His feet moved of their own accord, and he was right next to Peter, close enough to focus on the sharp stream as it cut through the air. 

Close enough to feel the sheer and utter relief radiating out of every pore of Peter’s body, to hear the long sigh that skimmed over Peter’s parted lips, to see his muscles tensing as they focused on a single goal - release. Close enough to reach out and wrap his fingers around Peter’s magnificent cock and feel the force of the liquid as it shot from him, acrid and hot and _strong_.

And he wanted that, god he wanted it, but not yet. He tugged at his own dick instead and waited, watched, listened. Right beside Peter, in his personal space, and Peter knew he was there. He knew, and he let him stay – _wanted_ him to stay.

It went on for an almost unnerving amount of time, long enough for Neal to have to squeeze the base of his cock to keep from coming. Long enough for Peter to exhale a profanity, something he’d never do in public, a drawn-out _fuck_ to prove that he was still this side of verbal.

Neal was so wrapped up in the moment, in Peter’s sheer masculinity, in his own arousal that he almost missed it. The stream started thinning out, tapering off, and Peter’s whisper startled him. “ _Now_ , Neal.”

He brought his fingers, slick and trembling, to Peter’s still-pissing cock, his hand replacing the other man’s. Peter moaned, not from relief but with surprised arousal, and the sound did something to Neal. He started stroking, and somehow Peter kept going, even as he started to firm up under Neal’s fingertips.

Something in Neal, something raw and eager, broke loose. He wrapped his free hand around Peter’s opposite shoulder for leverage, leaned into the older man’s body, and rutted desperately into his hip.

Everything seemed to happen at once after that. Peter’s stream – just a trickle because he’d nearly finished – choked off as his erection took over, and Neal couldn’t hold back. He came against Peter’s hip, not caring that it was soaking into the other man’s shirt and pants, and buried his face in the back of Peter’s shoulder to keep from screaming. His vision grayed at the corners, and he thought for a frightening second that he might pass out, right there in his own bathroom with his dick hanging out, his come all over Peter’s clothes – and his hand around Peter’s now startlingly large cock. 

But then Peter turned to face him, forcing Neal’s hand to slip away, and kissed him. It was tentative at first – just long enough for Neal to protest – and then insistent when the protest didn’t happen. He nudged his erection against Neal’s softening one, and Neal had enough presence of mind to slip a hand between them and resume his ministrations, even as he struggled to remember how to breathe again.

His hand glided over Peter’s length, slick with precome, maybe a little piss. He thought about dropping to his knees and sucking Peter off. It was so tempting, but they were both a little tipsy and way too tired, and it didn’t feel right to cross that line yet. Not this time. There would be a next time.

Peter’s lips left Neal’s, planting a line of haphazard kisses down over Neal’s jaw, his neck. He dropped his head to Neal’s shoulder, panting his way through a steady cadence of moans that matched his thrusts into Neal’s fist. Neal almost smiled at the sound of it, would have if not for the shock that this was actually happening in his own bathroom, his own space.

_Full immunity._

Peter’s orgasm almost took them both by surprise. He tensed, gasping sharply – _Neal!_ – into Neal’s shoulder, and Neal felt the sticky wetness soaking into his undershirt, coating his fingers. He milked out every drop, being as gentle as he could with Peter’s now-sensitive cock as the older man’s ragged breaths heated his skin.

Peter’s arms were around him, and when he swayed, it knocked Neal off-balance. They stumbled and somehow managed to lower each other to the floor, trembling and sated. Stunned.

It was Neal who finally broke the silence, his head resting on Peter’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Peter shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck, then looked down at himself, his open pants and spent cock. “I can’t.” He took a few deep breaths and leaned against Neal. “I can’t believe we just did that. God, if anyone…oh, Neal. This is my fault. I shouldn’t have talked you into coming back here with me.”

Neal leaned back and looked at Peter’s face, at the lines of fatigue, worry, and maybe a little fear etched there. No regret, though, and that warmed him inside. His hand, the one not coated with the remnants of Peter’s orgasm, went to his handler’s face, rasping over the stubble there.

“Peter, thank you,” he repeated. “You didn’t talk me into anything. I wanted to come back. I wanted _this_.” His voice dropped to a low whisper. “And it was damn hot, and I want it again. If you do.”

Peter stared at him for a long moment before finally huffing out a relieved laugh and waving his hand down at himself. “What do you think?”

Neal looked down at Peter, then at himself, and grimaced. “I think I need to get us cleaned up. You’re, um…you’re staying, right?” He pushed himself up slowly, then waited for his equilibrium to catch up before grabbing a washcloth from the shower.

“I think I should, if I’m not intruding.” Peter stifled a yawn with his hand. “I don’t think I can drive like this. We both need to get some sleep.”

Neal ran the cloth under warm water at the sink, then wrung it out before flushing the toilet and sitting back down beside Peter. “You’re not intruding. I’d like it if you stayed.” He raised his eyebrows at Peter, asking for permission to touch him again, unsure if it was still allowed now that they weren’t in the heat of the moment. Peter nodded and leaned back, holding his pants open.

Neal cleaned Peter’s soft cock as carefully as he could, then did the same to himself, wiping away the remnants of his own pleasure and Peter’s. A thought occurred to him, and he looked guiltily up at Peter. “I don’t think I have anything that will fit you…”

“I keep a gym bag in the trunk with a change of clothes.”

“I can run down and get it.” He gave Peter a teasing grin. “If you trust me with the keys.”

“Hmm.” Peter was fading quickly, his eyelids drooping, but he managed to nod.

Though Neal was headed in the same direction, another thought managed to break through the weariness. “Does Elizabeth know not to expect you home?”

“She does,” Peter mumbled around another yawn. “She knew we’d probably be talking all night and that I was bringing alcohol. And she’ll want the details when I get back.” He gave Neal a sleepy smile. “She likes it, too, you know.”

Neal froze for a moment, his eyes wide. “This?” He gestured at the two of them and then at the toilet, wondering if Peter would even be telling him about this if he hadn’t been so wrecked.

Peter nodded. “Sometimes,” he replied softly. “Just what we did. Watching, giving me a hand. Says it’s kind of primal, or territorial…something. I don’t even know.” He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, and Neal couldn’t help smiling at him.

It took a few more minutes for Neal to get a rather pliant Peter out of the bathroom, stripped to his birthday suit, and under the covers. By the time he’d returned from the Taurus, locking the door to his room behind him, Peter was already nodding off. Neal fished a clean pair of boxers out of the gym bag and tossed them to him, and Peter grunted his thanks as he put them on under the covers. 

Now even more worn out, Neal slipped out of the robe and pajama pants he’d changed into before venturing downstairs, then slid in next to Peter. He thought the other man might be asleep, but Peter surprised him by rolling over to face him.

“This was…nice, Neal.”

“That the beer talking?” When Peter shook his head, Neal grinned. “The lack of sleep?” Again Peter shook his head, and then in a move that shocked Neal, leaned in to give him a quick kiss.

“Need to be careful,” Peter mumbled, tucking the sheet around his waist. “But I wouldn’t mind doing it again sometime. When we’re more rested.” He gave Neal another chaste kiss, then let his head fall back to the pillow, slipping into slumber almost immediately.

Neal felt the pull of sleep as well, but before he gave in to it, he gazed fondly at the man next to him. Peter had given him something that morning, whether he realized it or not. The intimacy, the trust that came with it, meant even more than being so accepting of the sexual part. Though, admittedly, the acceptance was a beautiful surprise.

_I wouldn’t mind doing it again sometime._

With those words echoing in his ears and in his mind, Neal finally allowed himself to drift off to sleep.

\---

**Author's Note:**

> The views expressed in this story about certain aspects of watersports being "gross" or unappealing are not necessarily representative of my own opinions, nor are they meant to be offensive or a commentary on those who enjoy those things. It's simply the way I envisioned the characters in this particular story feeling about the subject. Yep. Really.


End file.
